“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know.”
“Were you happy there?”
“No,” I admit. “No, I wasn’t happy. But then I met Christopher.”
The woman doesn’t say anything for several awkward moments but then finally breaks the thick air by saying, “Well, let’s head downstairs. Your breakfast is getting cold.”
Making my way downstairs is no easy task. Shoes are hard enough to get used to, but heels are a different beast within themselves. They hurt my feet, make my ankles tired, and my calves seem to be tense at all times. I somehow get to the dining room without falling at the same time Christopher is getting off the phone and taking his own seat at the shiny table.
“Is everything okay?” he asks me with a look of confusion as to why I was gone.
“We just got her a pair of Mrs. Davenport’s shoes to wear,” Ms. Evans says with a warm smile.
Christopher glances down at my feet and then at his mother, who is now sitting at the head of the table, sipping from a teacup.
“Really, Mother? You can’t give her a little grace? Heels?”
Mrs. Davenport raises an eyebrow and then places her teacup on the matching saucer below. “A lady only wears heels.”
I take my seat and place my hand on Christopher’s lap as he did with me when I tried to stand up to help. “Thank you, Mrs. Davenport. I appreciate you lending me the shoes.”
“You can call her Louisa,” Christopher says as he takes a bite of omelet. “No need for formalities.”
“Well, we don’t exactly know each other,” Mrs. Davenport cuts in.
“She’ll be calling you Louisa,” Christopher says with a warning voice.
His mother must know when to not push any further when it comes to her son, because even though her lips purse together and wrinkles furrow her brow, she nods curtly and says, “Very well. Yes, please call me Louisa, dear.”
I don’t know this woman one bit, but I do know she doesn’t mean a single word she says. But I also know it’s Christopher’s wishes, and I’ll do as he asks just as his mother will.
“What did your work have to say?” she asks while she watches Christopher and me eat.
“They want me back,” Christopher says between mouthfuls. “Jason is on the phone with them now about giving them an exclusive with me and Ember. We need to give it to someone, so why not Rolling Stone? He’s working out all the details.”
“That’s excellent news,” Louisa says. “It will do you good to get your old life back as soon as possible.”
“We’re going to start looking for an apartment as soon as possible too,” he adds.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” she asks. “With everything going on, and with the media circus, you may be better off staying here.” She looks at me and then paints a smile on her face that makes the corners twitch. I’m learning this smile. I see the fake laced in it. “Think of Ember. If you go back to work with Rolling Stone, it will mean Ember being left alone. At least by you two staying here for a bit, she’ll never be alone. Ms. Evans will be here.”
I notice she doesn’t say she will be here for me, but instead the servant doing the job of a wife and now the new caretaker. I don’t want to be alone at all, but I also don’t feel welcomed here regardless of what Louisa is saying.
“You have a point,” he says as he takes large swallows of his orange juice. I notice it’s not freshly squeezed. I would have squeezed it myself this morning before pouring him a glass.
Jason enters the room and pauses until all eyes are on him. “I have a statement written up for you,” he says. “I think it’s best for you to do it now. I also spoke with Rolling Stone, and all the details are ironed out for you.”
Christopher wipes his mouth and stands. “Thank you, Jason, but I can handle the statement myself.”
He then looks at me. “Are you done with breakfast? You barely touched your food.”
My stomach churns with nerves, and I worry about keeping down the little food I did eat. “I’m done. I’m just nervous.”
Christopher helps me out of the chair and says, “Let’s get this over with. Just stand by my side, and I’ll handle the rest.” He takes my hand in his and walks us to the front door. “Remember, it’s going to be loud, aggressive, and there will be a lot of flashing lights. Just do what you did yesterday. I saw us on television, and you looked great. You’re really photogenic and controlled your emotions perfectly.”
Christopher’s praise doesn’t make me feel any better, but I give him a weak smile. “I’m ready.”
When the front door opens, the roar of chaos returns. I can’t make out individuals in the crowd, because the flashing lights are so intense. I stay by Christopher’s side as he lifts his arm to signal to the horde that he’s about to say something.